The Fallen Soldier
by Fluent in Fitz
Summary: Fitz was a highly trained military operative who was discharged from duty after he returned from a mission where he killed hundreds of people. Eight years later, he is captured by the government and forced to reenlist as punishment for his treacherous crimes.


**Chapter 1 - Public Enemy Number One**

"FREEZE! WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED! DROP YOUR WEAPON RIGHT NOW OR WE WILL BE FORCED TO TAKE ACTION! THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING! DROP YOUR WEAPON AND SURRENDER! IF YOU DO NOT, YOU WILL GIVE US NO CHOICE BUT TO SHOOT! YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS!"

The voice of a uniformed agent blared through the megaphone that he gripped tightly in his sweaty hands. He, along with fifteen other agents formed a circular barrier, effectively caging the criminal garbed in all black. His identity was unknown. His head and the top half of his face were hidden by a baseball cap and the hood from his sweater.

He hesitated. With bated breath, he scanned the area in search of a way out. It was hard for him to see with the high beams from their vehicles shining directly in his blueish gray eyes. He wasn't worried though. He was a professional...or at least used to be. It had been a while. He was a little rusty. He was trained by the best and had beaten the best. He was lethal. He was dangerous. He used to be one of them. Not a federal agent, but a law-abiding citizen. A patriot. Like them, he defended his country. The faded tattoo on his upper outer left arm was proof of his service. And in return for his duty, he lost everyone and everything he'd ever cared about. That betrayal was what lead him astray - what lead him to a life of crime.

The countdown began.

"FIVE...FOUR…"

He was thinking.

"THREE"

He was completely surrounded. He had nowhere to run or hide.

"TWO…"

Fuck it. He wasn't about to give up. Not that easily. He wasn't going to just let those bastards arrest or kill him without putting up a fight. He'd rather die fighting for his freedom in the country he shed his blood, sweat, and tears for then fight for his country's freedom. He knew he wasn't going to make it out of the shootout alive, but he was going to take as many as he could with him.

"ONE!"

"HOLD YOUR FIRE!"

An older gentleman with white thinning hair, dressed in a black suit, ordered his men. He emerged from behind them, walking through the hole they made for him. They all eased their fingers off the triggers, but kept their guns pointed at the man. He took the megaphone from the agent and addressed the criminal.

"SURRENDER NOW AND NO HARM SHALL BE BROUGHT TO YOU! REFUSE AND I WILL ALLOW MY MEN TO SHOOT THIS TIME! I AM OFFERING YOU ONE LAST WARNING! YOU HAVE EXACTLY TEN SECONDS!"

He lifted his left wrist, checking the time on his watch. Time was ticking. He raised his head to see the other man holding both hands up in the air and smiled victoriously.

"PUT YOUR WEAPON DOWN!" The same agent from before commanded.

He did as he was told, lowering his assault rifle to the ground before standing back up with his hands above his head. His movements were slow, so they could see every action he performed. Four agents approached him from different sides while the rest hung back ready to shoot if he made any sudden moves. He heard the sound of metal clinking and knew what was next. A second later his arms were being restrained behind his back as his wrists were handcuffed. He clenched and unclenched his fists to help alleviate some of the pain from the tightness of the cuffs, cutting off his circulation. He was read his rights as he was lead to a squad car.

* * *

He was sitting in a dimly lit interrogation room. A cup of contaminated warm water sat in front of him on the table, untouched. It was going on two hours since he'd arrived at the Pentagon and was placed in this room. His hat and hoodie had been removed upon his arrival, leaving him in a black tee, jeans, and a pair of worn sneakers. Almost two hours he'd been sitting here and still no one had come to question him yet. He figured it'll be another two before someone finally did and decided to take a nap while he continued to wait. Just as his eyes slipped closed, the door opened and in walked a familiar face. The familiar face that spared his life.

"Fitzgerald Thomas Grant The Third, it's been a while. What...seven, eight years?" Asked Cyrus Beene, the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

"Something like that." Fitz answered, staring at the older man now sitting across from him.

Cyrus plopped a file on the stainless steel table and opened it. It contained all of Fitz's information, including his recent endeavors.

"You've been a baaaaaaaaaad boy." He stated, flipping through the papers. He shook his head. "It's a shame. You went from America's hero to America's antihero."

Fitz scoffed and rolled his eyes, causing Cyrus to stop reading and look up at him.

"Do you have something you would like to share with the class?" He questioned, sitting back in his chair.

"No but I would like to get the hell out of here and would very much appreciate it if you would either ship me off to the big house or let me walk."

"Let you walk? No, I don't think so. Not this time. I've already given you much more leeway than I should've because of the history we share. They won't allow you to just walk out of here. They want your head on a spike. Did you really think I'd let you off without any retribution? You should be burning in hell right now for your transgressions."

"You're right I should be burning in hell right now...for the sins I committed in the name of the republic. The things I did while I wore that uniform has for sure gotten me a one way trip straight there."

"I should give you the death penalty for committing treason."

"That's not your call to make." Fitz countered, unbothered.

"Oh how the time's changed. That's the beauty of my position. I am now the judge and the jury and this is your trial." Cyrus stated matter-of-factly.

"I wish I would've known. I would've dressed more appropriately for the occasion."

His nonchalant behavior was starting to piss Cyrus off.

"Cut the crap, Fitzgerald." He snapped.

Fitz smirked and leaned forward, resting his interlocked hands on the cold metal table.

"You're a hypocrite, Cy. You want to give me the death penalty for treason? Tell me this, was it treason when I shot down that goddamn plane? No, right? I was given an order to shoot down a plane carrying over three hundred U.S. civilians but that wasn't considered terrorism which is also an act of treason, is it not?"

"It is but that was different. What you're referring didn't happen in the United States therefore it wasn't considered terrorism."

"Of course it wasn't." Fitz chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "I swear this country is so fucking backwards. Elected officials don't know whether to scratch their watches or wind their asses especially that incompetent imbecile sitting behind the Resolute Desk."

"The government has turned a blind eye for years, letting you waste your life and potential but when you started getting out of hand, we had to intervene. They were gonna send a S-W-A-T team after you and I convinced them to let me and my guys apprehend you instead. I put my job on the line for you. Don't you understand things could've been a lot worse for you had they captured you. I'm being nice. They wouldn't have been. They would've probably shot you on the spot."

"Is this the part where I'm supposed to thank you?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact it is. I did you a favor. Gunrunning, conspiring with the enemy, murdering your own people...you should be rotting in the grave right now. I saved your life. So yes, you should be on your knees praising me like I'm Jesus Christ Himself."

"You would like that right...me on my knees in front of you?" Fitz sneered.

Cyrus gave him a disgusted look and asked seriously, "What the hell is wrong with you? Have you lost you fucking mind?"

Fitz shrugged and sat back in his chair.

"Maybe. That's what untreated post traumatic stress will do to you. But what's the difference between now and then. When I was a soldier, I spilled American blood on American soil and you called it patriotism. Big risks means bigger rewards."

"Or punishments. Look I know-"

"Don't." Fitz snarled, sitting forward again. He knew where Cyrus was going with the conversation and if he was smart, he would turn around and steer it in a different direction. Fitz was a ticking time bomb and Cyrus had his finger on the button that would surely cause him detonate. "Do not say you know how or what I feel because you don't. It wasn't James and Ella on that plane. You don't know how I feel or what the fuck I've been going through since that day so you can spare that whole bullshit speech where you claim you do. Please."

"Fine. You wanna get down to business, let's get down to business. I sentence you to life in prison without a chance of parole."

Fitz didn't try to plead for a shorter sentence. He didn't attempt to argue his case. He simply accepted his comeuppance. He wasn't breaking down, raising all kinds of hell, or reacting the way Cyrus had seen so many others do before when he gave them the same sentence. Fitz was apathetic.

"You don't have anything to say?"

Fitz shrugged his shoulders. "I did the crime, I have to do the time."

Deep remorse gnawed at the pit of his stomach. Maybe he was getting soft in his old age or maybe he still felt bad for what happened to Fitz. Maybe it was a little bit of both. Maybe, just maybe.

"You have another option. Prison is the first one. Would you like to hear the other?"

"I doubt it'll be better than spending the rest of my life incarcerated but why not."

"You could reenlist-"

Before he could finish, Fitz was already shaking his head adamantly, declining the offer.

"Fitz." Cyrus tried.

"No."

"But-" He tried again.

"No!" Fitz reiterated firmly.

"Don't you want to think about it first? You know, weigh out your options?"

"There's nothing to think about. I'm never going back there again...ever." He declared with finality in his voice.

"In that case, you don't have a choice."

"Wait you just said I had options. I choose life in prison without bail."

"I know what I said and I change mind. I'm now sentencing you to one year at the Shatterdome where you will serve as an instructor, training cadets while resuming your training on base. Let's call it your rehabilitation program. Please don't do anything stupid for the duration of your time there or else."

"Or else what?" Fitz challenged.

Cyrus grinned.

"We'll kill you and reanimate your corpse. All of your memories from your previous life will be erased. You'll serve as a remotely controlled super soldier - cold and efficient. You'll possess an enhanced level of strength and durability to enable you to carry out missions which means you'll be highly resistant to conventional attacks such as, stabbing and gunfire. A chip will be implanted in your brain that will cause your body to respond to every function we command."

He stood up, buttoning his suit jacket.

"So you see if you refuse to comply, we'll simply make you."

And with that being said, he exited the room. Seconds after his departure, two agents entered the room to escort Fitz to an aircraft that would immediately transport him to the facility.

* * *

Fitz was temporarily blinded from a bright light when the door to the aircraft descended. He squeezed his eyes shut and flinched away from the direction the brightness was coming from.

"Get up."

One of the agents demanded and gripped his arm, pulling him to his feet. His wrists were still bound by handcuffs. He blinked his eyes, recovering his sight just in time to see the small narrow stairs he had to walk down in order to exit the jet. He stepped down them and stopped at the bottom. He looked around. Everything seemed so familiar yet so different. There were noticeable alterations made to the facility in his absence, but he was still able to recognize it. A shove to his back snapped him out of his trance.

"Walk."

"I know where to go. You can leave."

"Nice try but I have strict orders to escort you to Command's office. Now move."

The agent shoved him again, this time more roughly. Fitz stumbled forward a little bit. He was starting to lose his patience. He turned and faced the guard.

"There isn't going to be any more of those. Push me again and see what happens. Try me, I dare you."

"You're not gonna do shi-"

Not one for small talk, Fitz caught the agent off guard with a mean headbutt. He'd let his actions speak for him. The agent fumbled backwards. Before he could retaliate, Fitz kneed him in the groin. Having the wind knocked out of him, brought him to his knees, holding his throbbing crotch. Fitz finished him with roundhouse kick to the side of the head, knocking his ass out. His unconscious body fell limp to the ground.

"Hey!"

Fitz glanced over his shoulder to see the other agent charging at him. He spun his body around, ready to fight his next victim. Unlike the other one, this agent was prepared. Instead of throwing a punch, the agent whose name was Rupert, tackled Fitz to the ground. Since his wrists were secured in front of him, it was somewhat easier for him to move. The two of them rolled around on the ground, trading blows.

"That's enough!" An authoritative voice boomed, making both of them pause mid punch.

They sat up to see none other than Command, staring down at them, displeased. Rupert shot up to his feet and saluted.

"Sir."

Fitz struggled a bit, not having the same mobility as Rupert. Just as he found his balance and was starting to stand, Rupert hit him with a Muay Thai low kick, sweeping his legs from underneath him.

Command approached Rupert with swiftness. He got in his face and spoke in a low menacing voice.

"I said that was enough. Would you like to find out what happens to those that defy my orders."

"N-no sir."

He smiled that malicious smile of his.

"That's what I thought. Now get out of my sight and take that poor excuse of a man with you."

"Sir, yes sir."

Rupert first reached down and unlocked the handcuffs that encumbered Fitz's wrists before he grabbed the other agent, who was still counting sheep, by the collar of his shirt and dragged his body to the jet. The pilot helped him bring the body into the craft.

Fitz was still sitting on the ground, rubbing his sore wrists when Command walked up to him with an offered hand. Fitz ignored it and stood to his feet without any assistance.

"Long time no see." Command said, unfazed by his behavior.

"You know I always told myself if I ever saw you again I wouldn't kill you but I'd make you wish you were dead which I'm actually happy you're not because that means I can still carry out that task."

"Hello to you too, Fitzgerald. I would ask you how you've been but Cyrus already filled me in."

"Of course that cocksucker did." He mumbled.

"I'm gonna need to take up a few minutes of your time to get you reinstated and then I'll leave you to get reacquainted with the place. I'm sure you'll still know your way around the facility. Not much has changed around here since you left."

He turned to start walking when he remembered something.

"I almost forgot. Heads up."

He tossed Fitz's old dog tags at him. Instinctively, Fitz caught them with one hand. He looked down at the rustic tags that had his personal information engraved on them. He traced the inscription with the pad of his thumb. He remembered the last time he saw and felt them. He remembered ripping them off of his neck and throwing them at Command's feet. That was his last day as the highly trained Captain of The United States Defense Corps (USDC), a nationally standard military organization founded by the United Nations for the defense of the U.S. against any and all threats, and also his last day as Command's daughter's fiancé.

"Brings back memories, don't they?" Command had the gall to ask.

Fitz clutched the tags tightly in his fist. He hated those things. They reminded him of what a fool he was. How could his brothers and sisters in arms betray him like that? How could his family betray him like that? Especially his wife to be. He should've already been happily married to the love of his life. She should've been pregnant with their third of fourth child by now.

"More like nightmares."

Command smirked, "I knew you'd say that." He motioned for Fitz to follow him.

Fitz reluctantly followed him to his office. The entire way there, he ignored the curious looks he received as he stared straight ahead.

"Have a seat." Command said from behind his desk.

"I'll stand." Fitz refused, defiantly.

"That wasn't an offer. It was an order. Sit down."

Fitz sighed. He could go back and forth with the other man if he really wanted to, but he wasn't up for it. He was exhausted and all he wanted to do now was lie down, so he took a seat if it meant speeding the process up.

Command handed Fitz a thin packet containing the key to his private living quarters, his schedule, and other important information he needed to help him until he fell back in the groove of the way things were done around there.

"Everything you'll need is already in your room such as your essentials, proper attire, etcetera."

"Is that it? Are we done? Can I go?" Fitz inquired, impatiently.

It was taking all of his self-control and every fiber of his being not to jump across the desk and end the smug bastard's life. But he knew he wouldn't be satisfied if he just killed him. He was going to kill him, there was no doubt about that, but now wasn't the right time. However, when the time was right, he would make sure Command suffered a slow painful and torturous death.

Command gestured with his hand to the door behind Fitz, wordlessly giving him permission to leave. Just as Fitz stood up from his chair and turned to leave, there was a knock on the door.

"Enter!" Rowan authorized the person on the other side of it.

Seconds later, the door opened and in walked Olivia Pope, his only daughter. The same daughter Fitz was engaged to.

"Some of the cadets-"

Olivia stopped dead in her tracks and gasped, inhaling the rest of her sentence, when she and Fitz made eye contact for the first time in eight years. Her pretty brown eyes widened and jaw slacked, clearly taken aback by his presence. The old flames stared at each other for one minute, stunned. Rowan sat back in his chair with an evil grin on his face. From where he sat, it looked like the two still had the same effects on each other like they did years ago. He stored that bit of information away in his memory bank for a rainy day he was sure was in the near future.

Clearing her throat after the minute passed, Olivia was finally the one to break the awkward silence and said the simple two letter word they used to greet each other back in the day.

"Hi." She croaked in a whisper, almost not being able to get it out due to the emotion that was suffocating her.

_Hi._ It was such a small word, but held so much meaning. It was how they used to let each other know they still saw the person they fell in love with and that they were okay. However, they weren't okay and hadn't been for a long time now. They were far from it...well Fitz was far from it and as of right now he doubted he would ever get back to that place. He no longer trusted her and certainly didn't want anything to do with her anymore. She was the only person he trusted with his life and she broke it right along with his heart. He spent years trying his best to repair it, but his attempts were futile. What she did, he couldn't undo. What she broke inside of him, he couldn't fix. He was damaged because of her. She ruined him. She destroyed him and he would never forgive her for her part in his demise. No, he wasn't actually dead, however, he felt like he died with the three hundred plus people on the plane he shot down. Among those people were his mom and younger sister.

Fitz flexed his jaw in sync with left fist. He would never actually hit Olivia, but that didn't mean he didn't want to in the moment. His hand was certainly itching to slap the shit out of her. He needed to get out of there fast. When he started having thoughts about physically harming the woman he used to love beyond words, it was time to get very far away from her.

Without acknowledging her, Fitz stormed passed Olivia, slamming the door behind. Olivia remained in the same spot, staring at the closed door, hoping Fitz would walk back through it and demand the two speak.

He never did.

Instead he went directly to his room and laid down on the soft bed. He didn't fall asleep like he initially planned. He couldn't. Not after seeing her after all these years. His mind was too active to allow him to rest peacefully.

This was going to be one long year.

That was probably the only thing they were going to agree on for the remainder of Fitz's sentence.

**Author's Note: I just want to state that this story is completely fictional which I'm sure you already know but I just want to make that clear because some of the terminology is incorrect and some things are just simply made up. That's on purpose. I want to convey a modern yet futuristic feel, but not too far into the future. I want this story to have like a Judge Dredd/Pacific Rim: Uprising/X-Men (minus the mutants)/Universal Soldier feel to it though the plots are different. For those who haven't seen any of those movies it might help you have a better understanding of this ff. **

**Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter! I know it wasn't much, it was just an idea that was floating around in my head and I wanted to put it out there to see if anyone would be interested in it.**

**Thanks for reading!**


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